


the green and the red

by wolfsmouth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Other, The World of Ice and Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsmouth/pseuds/wolfsmouth
Summary: Maesters and Septons alike cast aside the tales of Garth as a god. But they are wrong. The Old Stories have the most truth to them.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	the green and the red

Garth is born on the Gods Eye.

The Green King Garoth returns from pilgrimage with the newborn babe in arms. There will be no milk name for this boy, his father declares - he _is_ Garth. His court protests, why risk the gods wrath, why care until the babe has seen a name day? But each protest is met with resolute silence. As the years pass, Garth withers in the Green Court. He is a small and sickly boy, spending much of his time failing to trail after his brothers. But they are far older, men already scarred by war. They have no time for his childish games and outlandish dreams, no patience for his weakness and confusion. Instead, Garth retreats into himself. Green dreams lead him deeper and deeper into the godswood. He spends his time in solitude beneath the heart trees, listening to the whispers on the wind and watching the plants.

Whispers follow him out of the forest. _Cursed by the gods. He was mad to give the boy a name. Should have left him to the woods._ There is no place for such a queer boy, such a _green_ boy, among the First Men. The Green King says nothing. Instead, he allows the boy his solitude. Garoth has other sons for his crown and lands. This boy is meant for the gods. 

On Garth’s tenth nameday, Garoth takes him to the Isle. “You must learn.” His voice is cold and harsh. “I can do no more for you. You must find your mother, and you must _learn_.” Father lifts him gently out of the boat and takes hold of Garth’s shoulders. “My beautiful green boy,” he says, before placing a kiss upon his brow. Carefully, he slips a dagger between Garth’s ribs. As Garth bleeds out on the shore, the King turns toward home. 

Garth wakes the next morning in a pool of blood.

He wanders the woods for days, with nothing to eat or drink. But it matters not. He finds the wind quenches his thirst as well as any water. The sun warms and fills his belly. The beauty of the forest nourishes his soul and he drinks in the colors of the flowers. As he wanders further into the lush forest, his feet and hands begin to turn green. Tiny buds sprout in his wake.

He does not wither in the forest.

He blooms.

*

On the dawn of the second week, Mother finally appears to him. _My son_ , she calls _,_ voice reverberating through him. He feels the hum of the earth in his ears. _You have finally been returned to me. Please, come find me. Please, come free me._

Garth makes his way to the center of the woods and the tree with a wicked snarl. A knife is shoved between its eyes. Without hesitation, Garth pulls the blade and slits his palms. He presses them to the sap dripping from the tree. The sting of sap and blood mixing does not make him wince. He keeps the wounds pressed tight. When blood and sap finally stop flowing, he sinks to his knees, drained. He sleeps peacefully for the first time among the roots of the weirwood.

When he wakes, Garth finds himself in Mother’s arms. She cradles him gently, smoothing his brow and rubbing his back. She sings a low, terrible song of sorrow and love. But Garth is not afraid. He feels at home for the first time.

*

The years pass and Mother shows him the divine ways. How to make seed plentiful, paint the lands in bright blues and greens and purples and every other color. Each spring, men and women make their pilgrimage to the Isle and offer up something precious, something sacred to them. Beloved heirlooms, riches beyond count, bountiful feasts. Mother accepts all honest gifts, but what she truly desires is blood and flesh.

_Seed and blood are the greatest gift of man, my son. The greatest treasures one can have. To give your seed or blood is to give your essence._

Those that bring their firstborn are gifted the highest honors. Near barren families swell with dozens of sons and daughters. Riches are found in unknown tombs. Overworked fields freshen overnight. Disease and age creep from the body.

Mother teaches him to prepare their flesh. How to strip their essences and recraft them. She teaches him to weave songs into flowers and vines and craft them into crowns. Where she walks, the land blooms. Where he walks, the land blooms.

_One day, there will be no Mother, no Lady of the Womb. Will you be ready, my Green Son?_

She asks him on the dawn of his nameday. He is six and ten, and he knows not what she means. But he is ready. He knows the price of bounty, the price of life. He spends his days collecting seeds from across the Isle and his nights singing the songs of the earth. 

*

When Garth is twenty, Mother nods. _It is time_. She does not say it, but Garth knows it all the same. They walk to the tree and Garth plucks the knife from the bark. He presses a kiss to Mother’s brow, just as Father had done to him, and plunges the knife deep into her stomach. Mother passes with his name on her lips and a smile. For a week, he feasts upon her until all is gone. His limbs and hair darken to the deep Green of Mother’s blood. The graceful antlers she wore shift into something more severe, more aggressive, and he knows it is time to place his wreaths upon it.

Carefully, he places his bag of seed upon his waist, adjusts his antler crown, and he walks. Out West, away from Father, away from the Men. He walks until he cannot, and still he forces himself forward to land. He breathes water and watches bubbles dance as he exhales. A hush falls over the village as he walks out from the sea. The shore blooms beneath his feet. Garth does not have to tell the people who he is. They know him well already. They kneel to him.

_The Lady of the Womb is no more, but Garth Greenhand is here._

The years pass slowly and endlessly among Men. Garth’s home moves with him as he travels the land. Dying villages are reborn and revived and a roving, endless kingdom builds around him. Men offer up their willing wives on their wedding night. Garth massages their wombs and whispers songs of life and birth into their ears. To raise Garth’s bastard is an honor, as were the many children that followed. His thirst for blood grows with his flock. Maidenblood, moonsblood, birthing blood. The blood of the old, the blood of the young, the blood of war and blood of peace. 

_Sate my thirst_ , he tells them, voice booming from every direction, _and I will give you an endless bounty._ They give him what he asks and he gives them plenty.

*

Garth has countless bastards and many more children. They spring forth from him at his will, each beautiful and lovely and terrible.

_Garth._

_John. Gilbert. Florys. Maris. Foss. Owen. Harlon and Herndon. Bors. Rose. Ellyn. Rowan._

_Brandon._

*

When his firstborn comes, Garth knows the boy will someday consume him, the way he consumed Mother. Little Garth is his mirror image, and the gifts of blood and bounty come easily to him. But the boy is kinder, softer. More benevolent. He is made for a land tamer than the one that came before him. He is made for the land his father built.

When his lastborn comes, Greenhand knows the long summer is nearly over. While Young Garth has his Father’s gifts, it is Brandon that has his thirst for blood. Greenhand puts a knife in his son’s hand on his fifth nameday. Brandon smiles at his father and plunges the knife into his belly.

Garth passes with a laugh on his lips.

Come spring, he digs himself out of the earth. He brings forth the first blooms when his fingers touch topsoil. He finds his children waiting, heads bowed in prayer. Brandon stands with a man and woman. When Garth emerges from his burial, Brandon bathes him in the couple’s blood.

The cycles continue endlessly. He emerges each spring gaunt and weak. He grows strong and fat with the days. Garth walks his lands from end to end, granting boons to those that do him honor, felling those who shun him. When he grows weary, Brandon is there to guide him back to the heart tree. Come autumn, his youngest son places a kiss upon Father’s brow and plunges the knife deep between his ribs. His children bury him with offerings of blood and bone, nourishment for the long winter to come. And Garth smiles knowing all will be there for him when he rises again.

Until Brandon is gone. 

He emerges that year to find Bors and Owen with a sacrifice each. He accepts their offer, then turns to his other children. _The pact was broken_ , Rose tells him sorrowfully. _The blue waters of my lake now run red with the blood of Children._

Garth nods. It is the way it must be. He leans against the heart tree and reaches out. Brandon is walking North. As he must. The North is a cold land, sparse and lonely. It is hard, like his boy. He will see his son again, but only from afar. There is still one gift he has for his boy, but Brandon must discover it through salvation. 

Gradually, the rest of his children start to leave. Florys, his clever little fox, steals off into the night with Rowan at her side. They roam the land, bedding many men but wedding only each other. Each time their wombs swell, Rowan plants an apple wrapped with hair from the slain men. Men bring forth daughter after daughter from their wombs until Garth has his fill. Only then does Rowan plant an apple wound in her golden hair. Florys waters it with her blood for nine moon, and Garth gifts them a golden son.

Gilbert revels in his debauchery, deflowering maidens and men across the land. Only when he reaches an island off the coast does he pause to rest. Here, the men and women truly understand the art of revelry. He takes them to spouse one by one and teaches them the secrets of the vines.

Maris, his Most Beautiful, drives men to fight wherever she walks, reveling in the thrill of the chase. Bors accompanies her south. He is truly a Bull in Man’s cloth. Each dawn, he drinks the blood of a bull and beautiful horns sprout from his head. Standing at Maris's side, no one dares to approach the pair. When Argoth Stone-Skin finally wins her hand, Maris instead allows herself to be stolen by King Uthor of the High Tower. She spends her days beside her husband, laughing as the Stone-Skin howl outside their walls. By night, she and Uthor delve deep into the base of the Tower. The oily black stone sings sweetly, pouring vile alchemy into their heads. Maris gifts Bors with an ebony crown of horns and tells him to listen. The next day, Bors heads south, a low hum emanating from the crown guiding him to his destiny.

Foss swindles his way around the land. He finds his way into the keep of every man and the dress of every maiden. He marks them with green apples and red, life and death. He shoots them all the same. Garth follows his son, collecting his gifts at every stop.

Owen takes his mighty rage to the shores. He burns with a fire in his soul and drives the beasts from the isles. Along each coast, he plants a shield so that he may deter those who dwell deep below the waves.

Harlon and Herndon, his blessed twins, cannot be apart. They make their home upon a far hill and together wed a woods witch. Before the light of the moon each month, they bed her, bringing forth bountiful sons and daughters. Her light and love keep them young.

Rose mourns deeply for her brother and the blood he spilled. She brings forth a flock of cranes in her wake. Each night, she descends to the Red Lake and takes her place among her children. In their guise, she guards them from all that would harm. Over time, she loses herself to her children and her daughter Roslyn must stand guard in her stead.

Ellyn, sweet and lovely, leaves him each night. He tracks her through the trees and watches her commune with the bees. When Aristen steals her away to his buzzing, bountiful kingdom, Garth watches a smile bloom across her face.

Then, it is only John and Garth that remain, and Greenhand knows his time is coming. Garth the Elder takes his boys back East to the Isle. There, he teaches them the Ways. John will never master them, but he must know so he may take his place at his brother’s side. As they spend their days trekking the forest, Garth begins to lose his green. He wonders if this happened to Mother as well, but it has been so long he cannot recall. His boys, however, bloom. John’s hands become the color of fresh spring grass. Garth’s are the green of the forest, as are the soles of his feet. Beneath the tree where Mother lived and died, Garth blesses his sons. He weaves John a mighty blade of grass and bathes it in the blood of the trees. It will be a fine sword to protect his Heir. To Garth, he gives a wreath of flower and thorn, shaped to nestle between antlers.

Only then is it time. Like Greenhand as a young man, like Brandon those many long years, Garth II kisses his father’s brow and plunges the knife deep into him.

He will not awake this time.

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this idea kicking around for ages, so here it is. I personally love the more grotesque theories and mythologies lurking in the history of Westeros.


End file.
